Blur

Carousel at Canalside, Buffalo, NY
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Tuesday Tones

Continuing, but not completing, our exploration of classical music inspired by the Moon, we have a work that I have been waffling on whether or not to include…because it is not inspired by the Moon, even though it always shows up on such lists because it’s one of the heavy-hitters when it comes to “Moon music”. It’s one of the most famous pieces in all of classical music, to be honest. It is Ludwig van Beethoven’s Piano Sonata no. 14 in C-sharp minor, almost always called “the Moonlight Sonata”.

Why on Earth would I possibly exclude the Moonlight Sonata from a featured list of music inspired by the moon? Because there is no evidence at all that Beethoven was ever inspired by the moon when writing it. He didn’t name it “Moonlight”, after all; a poet named Ludwig Rellstab offered the appellation Moonlight Sonata in 1832, after Beethoven was already dead. For Beethoven, who didn’t do much with so-called “program music”, it’s doubtful that he had any particular scene or inspiration in mind for the sonata at all. He may have heard the comparison of the sonata to “moonlight” prior to his death, but that’s a tall order and isn’t supported by any actual evidence.

We’re also left with the work’s three-movement structure, typical for piano sonatas. If the whole sonata is called the Moonlight Sonata, does that mean that all three movements are to be taken as redolent of moonlight? I don’t know. The first movement, which breaks with sonata tradition in being slow and lyrical (usually the opening movements are the fast ones), is the best candidate for “moonlight”…but then there’s the second movement, a gentle and lilting minuet in triple time, which might also suggest moonlight in its graceful tones. And the third movement, which is stormy and even violent? Well, who knows…perhaps it’s the kind of moon that shines on a windy night at sea, or something like that.

All of this isn’t much of an exercise, anyway. Many musicians hate the idea of attaching extra-musical “meanings” to music that is inherently abstract, anyway, and if Beethoven had any particular point in mind, he surely would have written it in the margins of the manuscript. Or…maybe he wouldn’t. Beethoven was one of humanity’s towering artistic geniuses, clearly, but at the same time he was also a pretty strange man.

In the end, we’re left with the music. Is it really “moon music”? Maybe, maybe not. I lean toward “not”…but because of that name, we can’t really totally exclude it, either. As the founder of Gramophone, Compton Mackenzie, once said, “(W)hat these austere critics fail to grasp is that unless the general public had responded to the suggestion of moonlight in this music Rellstab’s remark would long ago have been forgotten.”

Here is the Piano Sonata no. 14 in C-sharp minor, “Moonlight”, by Ludwig van Beethoven.

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Sunday Burst of Weirdness

How about we revisit an old feature that I used to run semi-regularly on this site? It’s the Sunday Burst of Weirdness, where I link an item or two that struck me during the previous week as “Wow, that’s really weird.”

We’re going to start with a guy in Britain who decided he was in the mood for cola-bottle gummies (these are gummy candies shaped like cola bottles and flavored like cola), so he bought a 3kg package of them and ate the entire package over three days. I had to look up the weight conversion, because I’m a non-metric American, what do I know about kilograms…that bag is over 6 pounds. Dude ate six pounds of gummy cola bottles in three days.

Did it go well? If it did, I wouldn’t be linking this at all!

Ouch.

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Something for Thursday

Last weekend we watched the original Jurassic Park, which still holds up amazingly well! Especially for a movie made in the pre-cell phone era. (That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but I have found that lots of times I watch movies in the pre-cell phone era and have to constantly remind myself that the characters don’t have phones and can’t call for help or look up useful information.)

Anyway, since we don’t really need a whole lot of introduction here, let’s just let Mr. Williams do his thing, shall we?

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“Meh, who cares, halftime is when you use the bathroom and get more food anyway”

I’ve observed the loudly negative reaction to a Puerto Rican rapper named Bad Bunny being named the performer at halftime of the upcoming Super Bowl with…not amusement, actually. More of a headshaking, “There they go again” kind of thing. The reaction of America’s right to anything cultural is obnoxious because it’s rooted in white supremacy, obviously…but it’s also tiresome and just plain boring.

I do note one specific “talking point” I’ve heard a lot about this: people demanding how can this guy be the halftime show at the Super Bowl?! They’ve never heard of him! Surely the NFL could pick an actual huge star! The fact that Bad Bunny actually is a huge star can’t be explained to these folks. They haven’t heard of him, and that’s all that matters.

That’s the part that actually does amuse me, because what you have here is people being genuinely rocked to their core to realize that popular culture has left them behind. And they do not like this.

Oh, my sweet summer children.

The reason this amuses me is that a lot of these people are my age and generation: It’s Gen Xers, suddenly being confronted with the same reality that our parents had to confront way back when. I remember my parents expressing consternation with some of the heavy metal music I used to listen to during the 1980s. (Music that you can now hear in the aisles of grocery stores, by the way…which is a major reason my general feeling on “the kids and their music these days” is simply, “the kids are alright”.) I doubt either of my parents had any idea who Nirvana was, and the first time either of them heard of Kurt Cobain was when he died.

And I’ll bet the same was true of their parents when they were listening to the Four Aces and Bill Haley and Buddy Holly and the Beatles.

This is one of those “the wheel turns” moments, isn’t it? “How can there be a gigantically huge star playing the Super Bowl and I haven’t heard of them?!”

Sweetie. Sit down. Let me hold your hand.

This is the way it’s going to be. Get used to it.

And you know, that’s fine, isn’t it? Our job can be to wave the flag of the stuff that went before, the stuff of ours that the kids still need to discover. Somebody’s got to be around to explain what hair bands were all about, and why “Smells Like Teen Spirit” was so huge, and other stuff, too.

And besides, doesn’t the halftime show usually suck, anyway? That’s what I’m told, every year. I dunno, I never watch the Super Bowl anymore, and even when I did, see the title of this post. Jesus could have made his Second Coming entrance at the Super Bowl halftime show and I’d have missed it, because I was off relieving myself and getting another drink and putting more wing dip and chips on my plate.

(In terms of Bad Bunny himself, I don’t know anything at all about him. I had to confirm his name for this post. I was going to refer to him as Brown Bunny, and that’s not just wrong, it also refers to a notoriously bad movie.)

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Tuesday Tones

Returning after several weeks to our series of music inspired by the moon, we have a work by Julian Anderson, a composer with whose works I am unfamiliar. One bio of Anderson I read provides this information:

Julian Anderson is one of the most talented composers of his generation and has been commissioned by organisations including the Berliner Philharmoniker, Boston Symphony, Bergen Philharmonic and the Sydney Symphony Orchestra. Born in London in 1967, he studied with John Lambert, Alexander Goehr and Tristan Murail and first came to prominence when his orchestral Diptych (1990) won the RPS Composition Prize in 1992.  Anderson has held Composer in Residence positions with the City of Birmingham Symphony, Cleveland and London Philharmonic orchestras, relationships which produced an impressive body of orchestral works including Stations of the Sun (1998, a BBC Proms Commission) and Eden (2005, Cheltenham Festival). Fantasias (2009)written for the Cleveland Orchestra, won a British Composer Award and The Discovery of Heaven (2011), a co-commission by the New York Philharmonic and the London Philharmonic Orchestra was awarded a South Bank Sky Arts Award. Both works were recorded by the LPO live label.

The work in question is called The Crazed Moon, a work that seems to be mostly a series of tone clusters at first, but from which an eerie logic and even beauty emerges slowly:

As Anderson writes, The Crazed Moon ‘takes its title from a poem by W.B. Yeats, in which he describes a frightening vision of ‘the moon, crazed through much childbirth/ staggering through the sky.’ This image combined with the beautiful lunar eclipse seen in March 1996 provided the main starting point for a work for orchestra lasting about thirteen minutes, in one continuous movement. The other factor determining the threnodic character and funereal mood of the work was the sudden death in September 1995 of a composer and friend, Graeme Smith, at the age of only twenty-four. This piece is dedicated to his memory.’
(Julian Anderson)
 
‘This tragic occurrence dictated the nature of much of the piece: predominantly slow, with tolling bells, heavy chords, keening melodic lines, and climaxes not only of mourning but also of protest. But two things make its expressive course over its 13-minute duration unpredictable. One is the overall plan of the work, which like a film sequence cuts between different elements developing independently of one another. The other is the incorporation as a recurring musical idea of Graeme Smith’s initials, G.S., which in German note-names spell G and E flat (Es). These two notes make a bright major third, which whenever it is used, harmonically or melodically, stands out in the darker, atonal context, to poignant effect.’
(Anthony Burton, LPO programme note, 2011)

I found myself more and more entranced each time I played the work. I hope you will too.

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The Hunter, again

Yes, this is the time of year when a lot of posts will just be photos of Orion!

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Tabular Enclosification

It’s time to close out some of the tabs I’ve had open for a bit.

::  This first grouping is about the recent murder of Charlie Kirk, which I have been reluctant to address in any major way, and I suppose I’m going to keep not much addressing it. It’s phrasing things mildly to say that I was not a fan. I do not think that Kirk injected any particular level of intelligent insight into the national conversation; I found his views to be a typical MAGA blend of virulent toxicity, white supremacy, sexism, creepy evangelicalism, and a general lack of factual correctness. I also think Kirk was Exhibit A in my ongoing belief that debates, as we generally see them in American discourse, are a complete and utter waste of time that reward talking-point facility, quick speaking, and general loudness over developing and advancing serious argument. (I differentiate greatly between debate and argument.) In short, I do not believe that Kirk made America a better place; rather, he played a starring role in the political forces that I believe are relentlessly making everything that has ever been good about America worse.

But I am appalled and disgusted by his murder. The man should be alive. His wife should still have a living husband. His children should still have a living father. And the person who murdered him should never have been able to get hold of the tool he used to do it. (Assuming that the person in custody truly is the one who committed the act, an assumption that I see no reason to question.)

Here are several pieces that I read in the days following Kirk’s murder (which, in a sign of the times, I learned about on Tiktok):

Jamelle Bouie, New York Times: Charlie Kirk didn’t shy away from who he was. We shouldn’t, either.

It is sometimes considered gauche, in the world of American political commentary, to give words the weight of their meaning. As this thinking goes, there might be real belief, somewhere, in the provocations of our pundits, but much of it is just performance, and it doesn’t seem fair to condemn someone for the skill of putting on a good show.

But Kirk was not just putting on a show. He was a dedicated proponent of a specific political program. He was a champion for an authoritarian politics that backed the repression of opponents and made light of violence against them. And you can see Kirk’s influence everywhere in the Trump administration, from its efforts to strip legal recognition from transgender Americans to its anti-diversity purge of the federal government.

Elizabeth Spiers, The Nation: Charlie Kirk’s legacy deserves no mourning.

Many of the facile defenses of Kirk and his legacy are predicated on the idea that it’s acceptable to spread hateful ideas advocating for the persecution of perceived enemies as long as you dress them up in a posture of debate. This is just class privilege. The man who smeared Black women like Ketanji Brown Jackson and Michelle Obama, whom he claimed had benefited from affirmative action, saying, ‘you do not have the brain processing power to otherwise be taken really seriously,” said it while wearing a nice shirt and a tie on a podcast instead of tattered overalls in the parking lot of a rural Walmart. That does not make it any less racist.

AR Moxon, The Die-ers(This piece is not specifically about Kirk, and was written two years ago. I think it still applicable to the current moment.)

Supremacy is a belief system that rests on what I’ve called foundational lies: the lie of separation, which insists that we bear no relation to one another; the lie of scarcity, which insists that life must be earned; and the lie of redemptive violence, which insists that those who have not earned life owe a debt to those who have earned life; a debt that is best paid with violence and hard use.

It’s a belief system that lets me believe that other people don’t exist in the same way that I do—that they aren’t people, in fact—and makes that case so subtly, I don’t even have to tell myself that’s what I actually believe; makes it so subtly, I can be outraged and offended when I reveal this belief to others without even knowing I’ve done so, and people who have learned to detect the assumptions behind my mountainous inhumanity inform me that they’ve detected mountainous inhumanity in me.

Ta-Nehisi Coates, Vanity Fair: Charlie Kirk, redeemed: A political class finds its lost cause. (Amazing piece. You may need a paywall-bypass site to access it.)

Words are not violence, nor are they powerless. Burying the truth of the Confederacy, rewriting its aims and ideas, and ignoring its animating words allowed for the terrorization of the Black population, the imposition of apartheid, and the destruction of democracy. The rewriting and the ignoring were done not just by Confederates, but also by putative allies for whom the reduction of Black people to serfdom was the unfortunate price of white unity. The import of this history has never been clearer than in this moment when the hard question must be asked: If you would look away from the words of Charlie Kirk, from what else would you look away?

Rebecca Solnit on debate (link is to a Facebook post):

Debate is a sport, and some people are very good at it, aand it is not a reliable route to truth or clarity or anything else except who is more ruthless, relentless, has more rhetorical chops, etc. I mean it’s dueling by verbiage and vehemence, and just like dueling with pistols or jousting with lances, all it settlesis better at the sport. (I know there is debate with rules in high schools and colleges, and then there’s the free-for-all versions….)

Was he good at it? He let college students pose questions and then (often, not always; see first comment) trounced them and somehow that was very appealing to a lot of people, which says a lot, but not that he was right or had his facts in line. Someone better than him at the sport–a top-notch courtroom lawyer, a lot of grownups–could have probably destroyed him in a debate not corrupted by interruptions and crowd roars, because he repeated a lot of MAGA nonsense. Adding a link in the comments of him being solidly trounced at Cambridge, thanks to Christopher Knight. Where the Brit is actually using facts and logic and kind of showing what debate should be, and Kirk is flailing.
 

Laurie Penny: “No, I will not debate you.” (Another older piece, but one which speaks directly to my personal distaste for “debate” as it’s mostly framed these days.)

There are some stupid mistakes that only very smart people make, and one of them is the notion that a sensible argument seriously presented can compete with a really good piece of theatre.

Every day, people on the internet ask why I won’t “debate” some self-actualizing gig-economy fascist or other, as if formal, public debate were the only way to steer public conversation. If you won’t debate, the argument goes, you’re an enemy of free speech. You’re basically no better than a Nazi, and certainly far worse than any of the actual Nazis muttering about not being allowed to preach racism from prestigious pulpits. Well-meaning liberals insist that “sunlight is the best disinfectant,” anti-fascists disagree, the far right orders more popcorn, and round and round we go on the haunted carousel of western liberal thought until we’re all queasy.

Tad Stoermer, “The Absolutist Trap: How free speech became anti-Democratic” (paid Substack):

Ezra Klein’s argument that Kirk was “practicing politics in exactly the right way” perfectly embodies this destructive thinking. Klein celebrates Kirk’s willingness to “show up and debate” as if the form of engagement somehow sanctifies whatever gets said, regardless of its content or effects. This is the abandonment of democratic values — or, at the very least, an ignorance of them — in favor of procedural worship. It’s a genuflection at the altar of democracy as ritual.

What’s most striking about Klein’s position—and the broader discourse around Kirk’s assassination—is how it reveals our complete abandonment of the contested tradition that once defined American approaches to speech and power. Contemporary commentators treat absolute free speech as if it’s some foundational American principle, when in fact it represents a radical departure from centuries of ongoing struggle over what speech deserves protection and why.

Nekimi Levy Armstrong, The Minnesota Star Tribune: “The blunt truth about Charlie Kirk’s legacy“.

When the machinery of the state chooses to grieve selectively, it teaches the public whose humanity is recognized and whose is disposable. That hierarchy is not new. It is deeply familiar to those of us who live at the intersections of fate, race, gender and justice.

The rush to sanitize Kirk’s legacy is not an isolated phenomenon. America has a long history of smoothing over the sharp edges of those whose influence was harmful. Confederate generals who fought to preserve slavery were reimagined in textbooks as honorable men defending “states’ rights.” Richard Nixon, forced to resign in disgrace, was later eulogized by political elites as a statesman whose “legacy will endure,” with Watergate reduced to a footnote. Even George Wallace, who once pledged “segregation forever,” was later softened in memory as a “complex” figure rather than a lifelong architect of racial terror.

::  Setting aside Mr. Kirk (and honestly, I plan to never speak of him again, as I assume his memory will fade until no one will think of him any more than anyone really thinks about Rush Limbaugh these days), but the news is still depressing: How the Current Administration is dismantling American cancer research. In the long run, the most damaging thing about the current administration may well be Robert F .Kennedy Jr. and his ongoing jihad against vaccines and health in general.

::  Finally, because this is getting long, a tip of the hat to a voice I’m sorry to see retiring: Olivia Jaimes, the pseudonymous creator of the comic strip Nancy over the last seven years, is stepping down.

Since 2018, “Nancy” has been penned by an enigmatic cartoonist who uses the pseudonym Olivia Jaimes. The reclusive creator modernized the strip, which has been in print since 1922, and its characters: the always sassy, sometimes grouchy Nancy Ritz, her aunt Fritzi, and best friend Sluggo.

But last week, we noticed black-and-white reruns on GoComics running in place of Jaimes’ bright, spare colored panels. These were “Nancy” strips from the Ernie Bushmiller days, who wrote and drew the comic from 1925 until his death in 1982. Wait. Where’s Olivia?

True to her mysterious ways, Jaimes quietly exited the strip and officially announced her retirement.

This makes me sad, though I’m happy to note that Jaimes leaves behind a seven-year-long body of work that is compelling and artistically interesting in the best Nancy way, as well as being often downright funny, which is the whole point, isn’t it? During Jaimes’s run, Nancy introduced a new cast of schoolmates for Nancy, as well as modernized her interests (Nancy was a member of her school’s robotics team!) without ever leaving behind Nancy’s trademark self-centered, but still somehow kind-hearted, nature. (Esther, Nancy’s new-ish best friend, had better make the transition to the new artist!) I also noticed that Jaimes played with the comic strip’s relationship with time: in a daily strip, obviously time passes (you can’t have Blondie and Dagwood just living in the 1940s forever), but you can’t have the characters aging while time passes. Jaimes observed this with great facility, allowing her characters to subtlely change and even mature over time (witness Nancy’s relationship with Mildred, her counterpart at the local magnet school) while no, nobody ever aged in the strip.

Olivia Jaimes’s true identity has thus far not been revealed, and while I am not clamoring for that to happen (unless Jaimes wants it to be so!), I am clamoring for Olivia Jaimes to have many successful future projects that are at least somehow clearly indicated as being Jaimes’s, if they choose to do any. I’d like to follow their work. (I also want a collection of all of Jaimes’s Nancy strips!)

That’s all for now…and my tabs are STILL overflowing, fancy that….

 

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Something for Thursday

It’s autumn at last!

I mean, sure, it’s been autumn, technically, for about two weeks now. But still, it’s autumn!

And sure, “meteorological autumn” started a month ago, but this is different. This is October. So, we have Meteorological Autumn, which starts September 1; we have Astronomical Autumn (the traditional Autumn), which starts roughly September 20 or 21, depending on when exactly the Autumnal Equinox happens; and then I would posit we have Emotional Autumn, which for me starts either October 1 or whenever the Ithaca Apple Harvest Festival happens, whichever comes first. So now we’re really into Emotional Autumn, when the leaves start turning and the football season is heating up as teams shake off the preseason jitters and as baseball is getting exciting (unless you’re a Pirates fan, in which case you’re annually shocked to learn that they let the good teams keep playing baseball after the season ends) and as hockey is doing…whatever it is that hockey does, I guess.

So, let’s spend October listening to autumn songs! And who better to lead off than Nat King Cole?

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Seeing an old friend for the first time in a while

The Wife’s surgery the other morning was a very early one: we had to be at the surgical center by 6am, which meant a 5am alarm. Ugh.

But when we got to the surgical center, I looked up at the still-night sky, not even starting to show the first hints of early dawn, and I saw him:

Hello, Hunter! It’s been a while, and it’s good to see you again.

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